


That Night, Reflections

by lilithqueen



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Fluff? Maybe?, Introspection, M/M, adult!ciel - Freeform, mentioned sex, mentioned tentacle sex, the author's headcanons on demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: On a hot summer night, Sebastian and Ciel reflect to themselves on the nature of their contract, their relationship - and on their feelings. Sebastian briefly ponders the possibility of his death. This is not as dramatic as it sounds.





	That Night, Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr! Hit me up at http://notapaladin.tumblr.com

Most men’s deaths were a mystery to them. Ciel sometimes thought himself privileged to be intimately acquainted with his.

At the moment, it was sprawled naked in his bed, not quite touching him. Even with all the windows open to the night air, the thought of physical contact after their…exertions was made disgusting by the summer heat. Most of Sebastian's form had been resumed—he had matter-of-factly explained at the beginning that holding to his human skin as much as possible made it far easier to resist certain impulses—but two pairs of black-feathered wings had not yet been folded away; the demon had chosen instead to stretch them over him, a loose cocoon. Crimson eyes watched him steadily in the darkness.

Neither of them ever spoke much afterwards. There didn’t seem to be a need. When Sebastian spoke, his voice was rough and quiet. Ciel could still see the edges of his fangs when he opened his mouth. He could still _feel_ the edges of those fangs in his shoulder, a pleasant little sting. “Do you think you’re tired enough to sleep now?”

The unspoken offer of another round lingered in the air, and Ciel felt thoroughly exercised flesh give a half-interested twitch. He couldn’t deny the appeal; since the sixth year of his contract when the serious thought he’d been giving to Sebastian's form had culminated in the first brazen offer to share his bed, he’d learned that the demon was as skilled in this as he was in everything he did. On the other hand, Sebastian had never allowed him to sleep in, and it was long past midnight. “Mm.” Words were slipping away from him, but he trusted his demon to understand the meaning.

“…Very well, then.” He didn’t offer to leave; after a moment, those crimson eyes closed. The displacement of air as his wings vanished was a welcome rush of coolness.

Ciel stretched out next to him, ignoring the twinges and lingering soreness. In truth, he didn’t feel much like sleeping. As worn out as his body was—demons never tired, and Sebastian seemed to delight in teasing him with claws or mouth or the deliciously chilly tendrils of shadow he commanded until he _begged_ —his mind refused to slow. _Seven years. It has been seven years of this contract, and my revenge is…no closer._ He couldn’t imagine Sebastian would draw it out; after all they had been through, his soul was surely seasoned to taste. He knew Lizzie and the servants would miss him, but a sharp, vicious part of his heart wished that his vengeance would come with the dawn. _This should not be allowed to continue._

A rustle of fabric. Next to him, the demon wrapped in human shape had rolled over onto his back, ink-dark hair fanning across his pillow. It was almost possible to believe he was sleeping. Ciel let out a breath at the sudden twinge in his chest. _Stupid. He cares no more for me than I do for a slice of roast beef, and I would do well to remember that. This is an amusement._

Still. Sometimes he wondered. Sebastian's claws left red marks, but had never broken skin even when he’d asked for _harder_ and _more_. Once, in the cold of a February night, he’d clung desperately afterwards and the demon had made a sound like a purr, wrapping arms and wings around him. He’d woken up still cocooned, after a deep and utterly dreamless sleep. Ciel had expected mockery, but in this at least he was silent. It had become something of a habit after that; whether Sebastian lingered over the task of getting him undressed for bed or all but threw him onto the covers and shredded his clothes in his haste, he no longer slipped away to his own quarters afterwards. He'd been quieter lately as well; once or twice Ciel had felt eyes on him and looked up to find himself being watched with an expression he couldn’t place.

 _Probably wondering if he needs to hang my soul in a dry cupboard to age first_ , Ciel thought sourly. There was no point in allowing himself to contemplate anything else. Even if the demon was…was _soft_ with him, tracing nails over his hips and pressing kisses along his spine, letting him set all the paces in their encounters, that meant nothing. He would still be his death, and it was willful blindness to let himself dwell on gentle touches, on postcoital smiles that utterly lacked the sharp edge of mockery, on the way Sebastian had laughed the first time his great feathered wings had tickled Ciel into an embarrassingly squeaky giggle. He was a man—the Earl of Phantomhive, not a _boy_ with his first stupid crush. Even if Sebastian had not been intent on devouring his soul, there was no reason to be sentimental. This was an expression of perfectly natural lust, nothing more.

He mentally revised that thought. There was probably nothing natural about preferring tentacles, even if they were some of the few parts of the demon's true form Sebastian would let show in bed. He'd appeared visibly surprised when Ciel had asked for even that; for a nauseating moment Ciel had thought he’d have to _explain_ , but then Sebastian had given him a smile soft enough to be a knife in what remained of his heart and rolled them both over so that Ciel was on top. That had been an _excellent_ night.

As sleep tugged at him, he wondered what the demon's strategy was this time, and whether it was worth countering yet.

 

\--

 

The demon did not sleep. Ciel was a solid weight on his side of the bed, breath slow and even, but Sebastian would never join him in that state. The closest he could manage—and was managing somehow, possibly due to the complete absence of any sound beyond his master’s breath and heartbeat—was a sort of heavy-limbed state of torpor. As he stared up at the underside of the canopy, his thoughts simmered.

Seven years since he’d formed their contract. Seven years on earth, watching his young master grow from a damaged, imperious, _adorable_ little brat to a strong-willed and—he allowed himself to smile at the pun—devilishly handsome young man, sharp as the spears of hell. He’d never had a contract this long. Always, always, his previous masters had been betrayed or satisfied; either way, he had feasted on the bitter spice of their souls. Anticipation and the challenge of remaining perfectly within bounds had whetted his appetite regardless of the taste, and Ciel was no different. By the time his master’s soul was perfectly seasoned, he would surely be _ravenous_.

He would be delicious. The bitterness of despair, the hot blaze of anger, the sour fermentation of hatred and cynicism—it set the demon’s mouth to watering. But even as the dream of a perfect meal struck him, bile rose in his throat. _If I eat him…_

His body didn’t need air to live. All the same, he felt as though something colder than Lethe’s waters had slithered down his throat and congealed there, half-choking him. Only the knowledge that Ciel slept peacefully by his side kept him from trying to expel it violently; instead, he settled for sitting up in bed and fixing his gaze at the far wall. Demons did not suffer illness—well, they _could_ , but he was sure he hadn’t seen heavenly bronze since Heaven’s gates had closed behind him. He prodded this new feeling like the edges of a raw wound.

Ciel’s soul would be delicious. That was fact.

Ciel’s soul would cease to exist if he ate it. That was also fact.

If Ciel’s soul ceased to exist, so would Ciel. That was…

The demon breathed out, touching his tongue to the backs of his fangs, and remembered the eternity before Ciel had called him—before he had been _Sebastian_. Find a suitable soul. Devour. Repeat. When he was full, he’d returned to Hell and his demesne until boredom or hunger or a desire to avoid politics had driven him to accept a summoning again. How many centuries had it been…? Too many. Too many since he’d enjoyed himself for more than a fleeting instant, since he’d had such an entertaining game of chess to play. And when the contract was over, it would be the same again. Forever, or until his own existence winked out like a dying star.

He tried to imagine an eternity without Ciel’s sharp, clever mind, his casual cruelty, the brief flashes of unexpected so-very-human tenderness. Something in his chest gave a sharp twinge, unexpected, and he put a hand to it. _What…?_

It took too long to fade; entirely without his conscious input, his gaze drifted to the man beside him. In sleep, Ciel had sprawled half on his side, skin luminous in the darkness and hair spread out like fog. The marks Sebastian had left—there a set of bruises, here a bite mark high on one shoulder, there a long dark scratch from his claws that had just missed his brand—stood out like beacons. His eyelids fluttered lightly in his sleep, but he did not stir. A strange, light feeling spread through Sebastian’s limbs at the realization that his master seemed to be having a pleasant enough dream; he took a moment to unpack it, and identified it as relief.

That had been a concern at first, when they’d begun the more deliciously carnal aspects of their relationship. While a part of him would always drink up despair and terror like the finest wine, it was eclipsed by the part that absolutely rebelled at the thought of such emotions radiating from someone who was _his_ to protect. He still remembered that first time with a twinge of dissatisfaction—Ciel had been arching, tangling hands in his hair and kissing him in a way that had entirely stolen all the breath he didn’t need, but then Sebastian had pinned him down on the bed and he’d _frozen_. His master’s spike of blind fear had hit him like a blessed gunshot as he withdrew.

Sebastian had  exercised restraint  after that.  The usual human reaction to any hints of the demon’s true form—the inky smoke, the wings, the squirming tentacles and far more teeth than any moral possessed—was terror. He had been careful, at first, to rein those in as much as possible.  But then Ciel had looked at him, the seal of the contract glowing violet in his eye, and... and had asked for more. Asked, not demanded, and Sebastian hadn’t hesitated to obey. His master was still sharp and clever and delightfully heartless, but  when they’d sprawled together afterwards, his smile had reached his eyes. He’d looked content, and Sebastian had wanted to keep that expression locked in his mind forever.

He thought of never seeing those brilliant eyes open and focus on him again and nearly gasped at the pain that lanced through his chest. The last time he'd felt like that had involved a dispute in the Malebolge. _What is happening? This can’t be because…_

Finnian’s accidental deadheading of an entire field of daffodils. No pain.

Mey-Rin’s perilously close miss with the new Wedgewood. No pain.

The kiss that would rip out Ciel’s soul, how he’d melt into it for one heartbeat, two, before the demon would swallow his screams. How his body would fall limp afterwards, suddenly too heavy—so much dead meat, rapidly going cold and putrefied and all because of _him_ , Sebastian. How the demon would never be Sebastian again.

He clutched at his chest, feeling the bones of his ribcage like iron bands. This couldn’t be happening; it was nothing but a reflection of his human shape. Demons did not—were not supposed to, it was _not done—_

Sebastian wheezed out a chuckle that sounded even to his own ears like a death rattle. _Wonderful. You’ve gone soft for your meal._

He knew he would never be able to think of Ciel as only dinner again. What else he might be to him, he wasn’t sure—but, as he breathed in the darkness and thought about this new sensation, this... _affection_ , he decided he would find out.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to explore the idea of Sebastian developing _feelings_ , and what that might be like for him. Ciel is oblivious, and will be until Sebastian is pointedly declining a clear offer of his soul. Also, I am a needlessly huge demonology nerd, so I had to throw my own headcanons in there: while they _can_ feel emotions, the demonic philosophy of "aesthetics" encourages them not to develop sentiment. They're naturally territorial and solitary; the rules and bureaucracy of Hell are about the only things keeping them from constantly trying to kill each other.
> 
> Naturally, developing warm and squishy feelings for your intended dinner is Not On. Why, it's practically _angelic_.* Sebastian, once President Malphas, is going to be in trouble.
> 
> * It is not angelic. Angels don't possess the capacity to care about individuals. The word which most applies is "human."


End file.
